Away from the other priests still fighting the blaze, they laid the bodies on the ground beside the one previously carried out. Choking and coughing, the commander gratefully inhaled the cool, fresh air. He wiped his streaming eyes and knelt beside the victims. They lay motionless, and had probably been dead before he’d entered the hoarse. The first was a large, naked samurai with a paunchy stomach; knotted gray hair looped over his shaved crown. There were no burns on him. But the other two…

The commander winced at the sight of their blistered, blackened faces. Breasts protruded through the shreds of charred cloth clinging to the larger corpse: It was a woman. The last victim was a very young child. With its hair burned away and the remains of a blanket swaddling its body, the commander couldn’t discern its sex or exact age.

Priests and nuns gathered near the sad tableau. Shocked cries arose from them, then the click of rosary beads as they began chanting prayers. Someone passed the commander three white funeral shrouds. He murmured a blessing for the spirits of the deceased, then tenderly covered the bodies.

Lying huddled behind a boulder, she watched the priests continue throwing water on the house while the fire brigade hacked apart the burning shell with axes. The flames and smoke had diminished; ruined walls and timbers steamed; the odor of charred wood filled the air. Soon the fire would be out. But she felt neither relief nor any desire to call out to the firemen, who were walking around the site, examining the wreckage with worried expressions. In her confusion and terror, she felt an overwhelming urge to flee.